Equal in the Darkness
by Kang Xiu
Summary: In which Henry Jekyll can walk, but perhaps not rationalise, in the dark, and finds it disquieting.


Equal in the Darkness

He could walk in the dark.

Henry supposed anyone could do this, but at the same time it was rather secret, like a wish. He could walk in the dark with his eyes open, knowing perfectly well that to one side there was a small table, and that to the other there was the door he wanted to get through, and he'd never knock into anything.

Occasionally, he needed the wall, but for the most part, he could do it in the middle of the room, even. It was especially easy when the submarine-ship was surfaced, as a bit of light would get in the small windows and make the dark rooms glow. When it was like that, he even dared walking just for the fun of it.

Henry did not often do anything just for the fun of it.

But when the Nautilus had surfaced and the moonlight was struggling through the windows, he walked through the long halls and even up on deck, all because he wanted to and not because he needed to.

Edward thought him a fool. Edward saw no need to bloody well move around at night while he was trying to sleep, but if Henry was gentle while he stepped--and as he never did knock into anything--Edward wouldn't wake and it would be quite all right.

That night, he'd even gone so far as to venture up on the platform and look around. It was rather bright outside the Nautilus, and he rested his arms on the railing with his back to the moon, and thought.

It had been almost a year since Mr. Quatermain had died and the Captain had allowed them to come with him on the submarine-ship. Henry called it a submarine-ship cautiously. 'Submarine' was Captain Nemo's word, not his, and the only thing he'd ever seen going on water was a ship, so he made a compromise-word and hoped it did. But he was wandering. It had been almost a year since Mr. Quatermain had died, and almost a year since Agent Sawyer had left. Skinner had disappeared some time ago, and Henry wondered almost idly if they'd left him behind in Scotland. It was only he and Ms. Harker and the Captain now, of the original League.

It made him feel quiet. He knew, of course, that it was that easy for people to disappear and die--how could he not know? He shared himself with Edward--but there had been seven of them at first.

Eight, Edward corrected sleepily. Besides, you buggering idiots didn't get on. Now there's three of you, and I've not been in a decent fight in a goddamn age, so shut up.

I'm sorry, said Henry. When we put in at Galatz, I'll get you in a fight with some Slovaks, shall I?

It'll do. Now shut up.

Henry did. He had just realised that Edward was right. At first, his thought had been that there were seven--eight--of them to begin with, and now there were only three--four?--and it was just so quickly that they had been killed or gone away that he felt a wave of melancholy pass over him--but Edward was right.

He and Ms. Harker and the Captain did get on. They passed one another in the halls and nodded or spoke a 'good day'; they dined together; and although they certainly followed their own pursuits, they did occasionally trade authors or thoughts. He wondered how he could possibly have slipped into a routine like that without realising it, when he'd spent so long by himself in that house in the Rue Morgue. How on earth had it happened? He blinked. He was as close to happy as he could be these last six months, and he hadn't even /noticed/.

Bloody clueless, Edward muttered, shifting about.

"Doctor Jekyll?"

Henry made a soft, strangled noise of surprise and turned. "C-Captain!"

"Good morning, Doctor Jekyll. We shall be going under shortly, and I thought perhaps you'd rather know."

Staring helplessly at the Captain, Henry nodded. He'd just had two wild revelations at once, the first being that it /was/ morning--the sky was already beginning to turn--and the second that Captain Nemo had just made something that, when one squinted at it a bit, was a /joke/. But perhaps it wasn't, he thought anxiously. The Captain said everything so completely dead-pan that he was never sure.

"Have you been here all night?"

"What? --Oh, I suppose I have."

"Surely you were cold."

"No, no. It's quite pleasant."

"Very well." Nemo raised his eyebrows slightly. "Will you come down?"

"Certainly! --In a moment." He paused. "If that's quite all right, of course. But I rather enjoy watching sunrises. Now, that is. It's something of a self-indulgence, isn't it? I never did, before."

The Captain bowed slightly. "A understandable self-indulgence, Doctor. I shall certainly wait a few moments for you to see the sun rise."

"Thank you." Suddenly, Henry felt as though he could smile. Captain Nemo, he thought, also wanted to see the sunrise. Perhaps that was why he'd come up in the first place. Perhaps, really, Henry had ruined his plans for seeing it alone--for he understood that. It was better to watch things like sunrises by oneself, just as it was better to see plays by oneself. That was how he saw it, at any rate.

He turned away and went to the other side of the platform, so as not to bother the Captain, and leaned back, tilting his head up. The sunrise always shone in his eyes, and it was almost as good as walking in the dark.

Again, that night, Henry went walking. He realised that he was becoming tired, that he'd done this for two nights in a row, but he couldn't stop himself. It was pleasant, the walking, and in a way it felt as though it took the place of sleep, for in the dark it sometimes seemed as though he were dreaming, and he rested a bit during the day.

He considering going up again, but he was anxious about perhaps disturbing Captain Nemo another morning. That was just like him, he reflected--he didn't even know if he had, but he was changing his plans so as not to do it again. Edward would laugh at him.

Edward /was/ laughing at him.

He sighed, and carelessly went anywhere, experimenting by going places he'd only been in daylight and still not falling over anything. Of course, he might have really been there a thousand times before. The halls were all the same colour, and he was disoriented easily. He wondered, a little, how Captain Nemo had ever created anything so large and so oddly the same and yet managed to know every part of it exactly.

Henry had never asked the Captain how long he'd been on the Nautilus. Perhaps he ought, he thought to himself. Perhaps he ought to do more than just skulk around the submarine-ship at night, and actually ask someone who knew about it. The trouble was, he didn't like asking things. He was a little afraid of Captain Nemo still, afraid of the man who knew what he was doing and could stand so well and dignified.

He was afraid, but he was interested, too. He really wanted to know more of the Captain. He had the unfortunate idea that everyone else /had/ known about him, and that he, quivering and pathetic and avoiding the world, was the only one who knew nothing. That was his fault, however, for doing everything in the first place, for making the vile formula.

Damn him. Ms. Harker could blame her trouble on a demon, and the Captain had, at least, made it clear that the British were responsible for driving him into the sea, but Henry Jekyll had no one to curse but himself. He put his face in his hands and shuddered.

This woke Edward up, and he demanded to know what the bloody pissing /hell/ was going on.

Nothing, Henry told him miserably. I've made a fool of myself again.

Nothing new. Bugger off and stop waking me up.

So Henry went back to walking, quietly, in the dark. He thought perhaps he knew where he was going just now. The hall seemed familiar in some way, and he stepped rather recklessly along the little stairwell. When he got to the next level, and looked about himself to see if he recognised anything, Edward made a muttering comment about what he could do if Henry didn't bloody stop moving about.

Henry was so utterly tired of it that he stopped and stood there without moving. Several hours later, he fell asleep.

He awoke to someone shaking him, carefully, with one hand on his arm and one on his shoulder. He made a drowsy, protesting noise, and whoever it was apparently got fed up with him, as he was left alone and woke again quite a while later.

Blinking off the sleep, he peered about the room, and it seemed that the person had not got fed up after all, as he was in his own room and his own bed.

"Mmph."

"Good afternoon, Doctor Jekyll."

"--rgleg!" He sat straight up, and found that the Captain was sitting by his bed, arms folded in a remarkably intimidating manner. "Er--er--good..." he swallowed, "afternoon..." He began to colour.

"I found you asleep outside my room at seven o'clock this morning and, as you seemed extremely reluctant to wake, moved you back to your own room. I hope you will forgive the liberty."

"Yes, yes, of course. Thank you, Captain."

"You have been staying up at night, have you not? In fact, I do not believe you've stayed in your room. Is there something wrong with it?" Nemo asked, quite seriously.

"No, it's all right, no, I'm--I just have trouble sleeping. I rather like my room, really." Henry looked about it at the little piles of books and the papers and the very convenient shelf-like thing by the bed that was full of more papers, an inkwell, and several half-full glasses of water. He did indeed like it.

"Very well." Captain Nemo stood, and Henry found he was calling after him, which was really a very odd thing. "Yes?" The Captain turned.

"Captain--I can imagine what you think of me. I'm not strong, not in mind or body, and I fail in many areas in which I wish I did not. And I do stutter absurdly." He smiled, almost to himself, thinking back on when he'd actually been in control. Back when Edward wasn't even there. "These habits I have--walking at night, sleeping during the day, keeping to myself, living in disorder--. It--it wasn't like this before, Captain."

"Doctor..."

Henry got out of bed carefully, smoothing a bit of his rumpled suit without thinking about it, and went over to Captain Nemo. He was substantially shorter, but for once he didn't stare up nervously. "I wanted to tell you; or I thought you should know. Because I am ashamed of myself. But it wasn't like this before. Not always. And I wanted to thank you, now that I've told you, because I seem to think this changes things." Here he paused and looked away rather. "Edward thinks me a fool. He's laughing again."

"Edward," said Nemo plainly, "is incorrect. You are quite welcome."

Again, Henry went walking. He thought he could stop himself that night, but apparently sleeping all day had made him more alert now that it was dark, and he crept around the Nautilus silently. This was the one time he had any grace, and he was taking advantage of it.

No one had ever told Edward he was wrong. At least, no one but Henry had, and Edward didn't listen to him anyway, so it hardly seemed to count.

But the Captain had, without fear, without worry, without even raising his voice, stated it as though it were a simple fact. This made Edward furious, and he shouted for hours inside Henry's head, demanding to be let out and given a chance to murder the Captain. He threatened and poked and even strangled Henry until it became clear that he'd knocked him out and now couldn't quite do anything.

So after waking up several hours later with an ache in his head and bruises where he'd fallen into a chair, Henry had his supper in his own room for the first time in months. As soon as it was dark, he went walking.

He could see from the bits of light that the Nautilus must be above water, and he considered going up on the platform, but he hurt a little too much for that, so he stayed on one level. This was quite all right, really, and he wandered about, stopping to lean on the walls every once in a while because of the hurting. He supposed it would be all right by the next day.

He kept thinking, the way he had the first night, about the League and what was left of it, and his mind kept circling 'round to Captain Nemo. Likely, it was because of what the Captain had said. He could not stop thinking of it.

He had read somewhere, once, and he couldn't remember where, that men adored the thing they were most unlike; that the toad loved the eagle, that the cynic loved the man who believed firmly in something; and he wondered, sadly, if he loved the Captain because he was courageous and strong and had a wonderful control of himself that Henry had not had in years.

He looked through the dark and shadows, leaned on the wall, and wondered. For a moment, to-day, he'd almost been the same way. When he'd explained to the Captain, he'd pulled himself up rather, and thanked Nemo firmly. For a moment, that was. And then, as Edward woke up irritably and demanded to know what was going on, he'd lost hold of it, and been back where he started. Was it better not to try at all? Was it better to let the Captain think what he would think, rather than trying to put things in place when it would only alter what he thought had been all right this last year?

Henry sighed. When it was put that way, of course it was easy to see which choice was better. He /was/ a fool, for all the Captain had contradicted Edward.

"Doctor Jekyll?"

"Captain." In the dark, all men were equals... someone else had said that... Henry put his hand lightly on Captain Nemo's sleeve, and kissed him. Perhaps Edward had hurt him more than he had thought. Perhaps men loved what they were not. He stood quietly now, having drawn back. It was better to let the Captain think what he would.

He could still see in the dark, and a little light from the window had caught the Captain's eyes and made them gleam.

"Doctor--"

"No, no," said Henry, feeling freer than he had in ages. "It's no use asking for an explanation, and I can't apologise. I shall leave when we reach Galatz." As he turned, however, he felt a soft weight on his shoulder.

"Please don't," said Nemo.

Henry stared at him. "I--"

"I had wondered," Nemo added, probably raising his eyebrows again, "how I was to tell you, but you seem to have solved the problem admirably. I should be very sorry if you left now."

"Then I shan't. I--thank you."

"There is nothing to thank me for, Doctor." Nemo touched Henry's cheek carefully. His hands matched the dark, and Henry realised, with a shock, that the Captain must be half-nervous too. He must. He had as good as said it outright. Suddenly, Henry felt far less afraid. It was actually all right. The Captain did not despise him, and in the dark, he might be an equal, and it was all right to love what he was not.

And, as Edward woke up and demanded to know what in fifty-thousand goddamn /hells/ was going on, Henry shook his head. "Of course there is. And I do."

"Very well," said Captain Nemo, and he smiled. Henry could quite tell he was smiling.

He was glad that he could see in the dark.


End file.
